


Road Trip - Nightside

by Sekiei



Series: Road Trip - Interludes [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sekiei/pseuds/Sekiei
Summary: Supporting Noctis following the news of the King's death had been both Gladiolus' duty and a matter of course. But the young prince was not the only one he'd been worrying about... And that night, he finally had the opportunity to do something about it. This is why the slow pace of J-RPGs is dangerous. Watch them drive around long enough and this is what happens in my head. Comments welcome and appreciated. :)(N.B. set very early game, no spoilers besides some backstory elements from Brotherhood / Kingsglaive. Also contains mature content but nothing too hardcore or explicit ;))





	

 

 

After a fortnight camping outside, the diseased glow of the neon lights on the stained wallpaper of the motel was a blessing. The evening was coming to an end. After a three hour Justice Monsters Five tournament, Gladiolus had finally convinced his two young charges to get back to their room and get some sleep. Seeing them compete in good humour had been a relief. Noctis had understandably not been himself since the announcement of the King’s death, but the motel stay had finally allowed him to stop brooding over the recent events if only for a few fleeting moments.

Speaking of… Noctis wasn’t the only one Gladiolus had been worrying about.

Ignis didn’t turn around when he opened the bedroom door, attuned enough to his presence to recognise it without needless confirmation. He was sitting on a stool at the little corner table near the window, hunched forward, studying notes and a map strewn in front of him. Gladiolus’ hands found their place on Ignis’ shoulders.

‘What are you doing?’

Ignis glanced up, leaning back against him as he did. The move was subtle, but it was everything. It was both a permission and a request. Gladiolus stopped himself from reaching for him then and there. A couple of things needed seeing to first. Soon, he thought, smoothing Ignis’ jacket under his fingers in quiet acquiescence.  
The past few weeks had been difficult. The news had hit them hard, but they had both focused on their duty first. There had been no time to share grief or comfort. For days, it had been but the fleeting touch of Ignis’ gloved fingertips on his arm as he handed him his meal, a quick worried glance exchanged in the rearview mirror, a few quiet words as they took turns watching over Noctis like a pair of hawks.

‘I’m trying to find the best route for tomorrow. The hunters were talking about increased patrols on the road to Lestallum. I thought there might be a way around.’  
‘Any luck?’  
‘No guarantees, but a working strategy at least.’  
‘Good.’

Ignis’ hair was still damp from the shower, falling unruly over his forehead and making him look inappropriately dishevelled.

‘I’m going to wash up. Try to be done by the time I come back.’  
‘What for?’

And there it was. The perfect poker face. Ignis had long turned ‘unreadable’ into an art form, but Gladiolus had years of practice. He wasn’t fooled.

‘I guess we’ll find out,’ he simply said with a smirk, before turning around to head to the bathroom.

The water was just the wrong side of lukewarm but it still beat an icy river or a handful of water from a pan at the campfire. Yet, it wasn’t nearly hot enough to indulge in a lengthy shower. Gladiolus started scrubbing at the grime on his arms with the cheap motel soap. It wasn’t the visible stains of mud and blood that covered them after every fight - they had cleaned those before getting to the outpost, it was the slow build up of dust from days on the road, barely visible, yet blurring the tattoo lines on his skin just so. He rinsed the studs and flexed his right arm. The dark lines moved with the muscles, sharp and contrasting anew. It felt like coming home.

The small comfort was soon ripped apart by a pang of guilt. He had tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on what he could do to help his companions, but he was acutely aware of his privileged position. Noctis’ unabating grief and anger at the death of his father was a constant reminder of how lucky he himself had been to have friends who had made sure Iris got out of the city unscathed.  
Of course, and even if there hadn’t been any official confirmation, he knew his own father had fallen alongside the King. Yet, this was cause for sadness, but not grief. The Amicitia were the Shields, the Protectors, had been for generations. They had but one purpose: to protect the monarch they had given their life too. His father could not survive the death of the King in battle any more than he would allow Noctis to fall before he did. Their lives had never been their own and they had prepared and trained tirelessly to fulfil their duty. Clarus’ death was a source of pride, a guiding light towards his own fate.  
In a way, it was comforting. From Gladiolus’ point of view, little had changed. He was still the Crown Prince’s Shield, he would keep on protecting him. The exact circumstances mattered little. He would do all he could until the end if it should so come. This was his fate and he had communed with it for as long as he could remember.

But for Ignis…

The others hadn’t noticed. Ignis had held himself impeccably since the news, still the same dry wit, the same dependable driving, and the ever present comfort or reprimand provided whenever Noctis needed them. Yet, Gladiolus could see it, the new tightness in the jaw, the hardness in the eyes, and then the subtle relief in the line of his shoulders when Cor had showed up for a moment to provide the Prince with an alternative mentor figure. Ignis’ official role had been to supply information and explanations, to shape the young prince’s mind to the intricacies of diplomacy and strategy. He had done so for years with his usual dedication and sobriety. But the King’s death and the fall of Insomnia had changed everything.  
Noctis was not ready, this much they knew. It was unfair for the young man to have to grow up so quickly, so unforgivingly, but it was unavoidable. If Lucis was to survive, it needed a King. And to morph into one, Noctis needed a guide, a helping hand, firm but understanding. The scope of the task was unparalleled. Yet, with Cor leading the guerrilla war, Ignis was the only one left to fulfil the role, with little choice in the matter. Lost in a tumult of feelings and doubts, Noctis was gravitating towards him by instinct. If a monster needed a good asswhooping he would call on Gladiolus, but if he needed directions or advice, then Ignis’ analytical mind and all-encompassing knowledge was his logical recourse. As always, Ignis bowed and obliged, then still found time to tend to the Prince’s mental and physical wellbeing. But Gladiolus could see the cracks, the toll this was taking on him.  
Ignis was no more ready to be the right hand of the King, than Noctis was to lead a whole country, especially one torn asunder by decades of war. Given a few years, both of them could have done so, but right now… They had to be crumbling under unexpected responsibilities and the crushing hand of self-doubt. Only, Ignis couldn’t afford to acknowledge it. His duty meant keeping Noctis’ support as steady as the bedrock of the world, guiding the Prince to overcome his shortcomings and weaknesses. To do so, he was not allowed to waver, not even for an instant. Weakness would be betrayal. And Gladiolus couldn’t help but wonder how long this could go on. Even the strongest mind had to have limits that would bend, then ultimately that would break. His own training was of little help in the circumstances, but maybe… maybe there was still something he could try, maybe providing an outlet, a safe space, away from prying eyes, would be enough. He had to believe it would be, since that was all he could do. He had to believe it because the world needed Noctis, and Noctis would be lost without Ignis.

By the time he walked back into the room, towelling his hair, Ignis was laying on the closest bed, eyes boring holes in the ceiling. His clothes were neatly arranged on the untouched covers of the second bed, within easy reach, glasses resting on top of gloves. He glanced at Gladiolus as he finished drying himself before resuming his study of the dark water stains above him, absorbed in quiet contemplation as if they might hold the key to defeating Niflheim once and for all. His fingers were drumming an aimless rhythm on his stomach.  
Gladiolus liked Ignis’ hands. Seeing them was rare enough - the man did all but sleep and shower in leather gloves, but being touched by them, that… well, that was an experience. Tonight, however, the nervous restlessness was giving those hands a very different tone than the one he fondly remembered.

‘Oh by the Six, would you relax.’

He sat on the edge of the mattress, poking Ignis’ chest with one finger.

‘You’re so tense.’  
‘I’m not. What are you…’  
‘Hush.’

His rudeness got an outraged eyebrow raised at him in answer, but it was worth cutting the argument short. One did not simply win an argument against Ignis Scientia. Gladiolus had learnt this the hard way.  
A loud bang on the nearest wall made him look up in alarm. Ignis propped himself up, already half out of the bed when unintelligible but definitely slurred swearing followed. They both laughed and Ignis let himself fall back onto the mattress.

‘Right. Cheap motel, paper-thin walls. I suppose it is to be expected.’  
‘Problem? Were you planning on being loudly indecent?’ Gladiolus asked, teasing tone and sultry smile firmly in place.  
‘I wasn’t. But I know what you’re like.’

Ouch. Touch and point. Not that Gladiolus minded, because Ignis was right. He did know. They had both learnt a lot about each other over the past three years.  
They had, of course, known of each other for a lot longer then this, having gravitated around Noctis for well over a decade. Gladiolus remembered Ignis as a child valet, then as the lanky teenager coming out of top secret council meetings with ‘eyes only’ folders under his arm, containing secrets he should have been too young to carry. At that time, Gladiolus had been doing little but physical training and chasing after Noctis and Iris all around the palace like an over-muscular nanny. He knew people envied Ignis. He was the youngest staff officer to have ever been allowed to follow the Council’s debates and had been named the official strategist of the Prince’s House by the time he was sixteen. Yet, Gladiolus felt little but pity for him, always alone, always working, uprooted from his land and his family simply because he was ‘gifted’. But, in all honesty, at the time, he hadn’t given Ignis much else than a passing thought.  
Things had changed as both their responsibilities grew, as Noctis had become more involved in the public eye. They had to coordinate their orders to the guards and sort out the Prince’s schedule. Still, it had been but a professional and polite, yet distant relationship.  
As a royal Shield, Gladiolus had the ear of the guards and the soldiers, he was one of them, revered and respected beyond his years. And he could hear the taunts and the leery comments that followed the Prince’s Strategist. Yet, the men obeyed the orders they were given, and he suspected it was all that mattered to Ignis. For a long time, he had just shrugged and chuckled at the impertinence of the guards. After all, the object of their barbs was a symbol of the royal hierarchy, of those who thought they knew better, yet were too busy giving orders to do any of the fighting themselves. Soldiers had to be allowed a bit of irreverence. It maintained camaraderie among them and as long as they fulfilled their duties, it didn’t hurt anyone.

But a single evening had changed everything.

He had been walking home, thinking about stopping to get take-out for Iris and him - knowing it was going to be just the two of them yet again, when he’d heard the clank of blades coming from a nearby training room. The doors were usually kept close, but the stillness of the air in that summer night had been suffocating. The weapons’ relentless rhythm had drawn him closer, his curiosity unable to resists the siren’s song of a yet unknown but skilled fighter. He’d leant against the door jamb to peer inside the room, careful not to intrude.  
The sight had been mesmerising. He could still see the daggers slashing through the air with precise arabesques, the muscles tensing and giving way with a dancer suppleness as the fighter rolled and jumped across the room. He had been able to tell the nature of the invisible enemy from the moves alone as accurately as if they’d been summoned into the room. That strike had severed the tendons in a behemoth limb, that slash had just beheaded a Nif automaton. That low throw in the bull-eye of a wooden target had crumpled a magitek armor. It all came together in a deadly and breathtaking number. Of course, it was not perfect. His trained eye could see the flaws, the occasional uneven distribution of strength, the unintended openings. Yet, the instinct and the talent that permeated the moves were undeniable.  
It had taken him a while to pay attention to the fighter rather than to his demonstration. When recognition had dawned on him, the nature of his gaze had changed in the space of a withheld breath. Seeing him always strapped in an impeccable suit, he had never imagined Ignis could look like this. Ragged. Out of breath. Sweat making the cloth of his vest cling to the plans of lean yet neatly cut out muscles. He’d had no idea the man could muster such energy, such raw fighting skills. But he could already see the truth behind the weaknesses in his training. Ignis’ official duties were extensive and time-consuming. To fight like that, he must have taken upon himself to go through gruelling paces whenever duty let up, whenever he got the chance, more often than not by himself. How could one rule over their existence with such unforgiving will? In fairness, Gladiolus wasn’t exactly one to talk considering the pace he kept, but his own life made sense. It was heritage and destiny rolled in one. It was what he was born to be. It was simple. But Ignis… he couldn’t grasp what could drive him so. Yet, that new piece had trapped him into the complex and fascinating puzzle the man was, had made him realise he wanted to, he needed to understand. Quenching his reservations, he had taken a step into the room and asked:

‘Need a sparing partner?’

Ignis had turned towards him, unsurprised.

‘I thought you’d want to stare a while longer, but if you’re done, why not,’ he’d replied with an undecipherable half-smile.

And at that moment, Gladiolus had known. He was so fucking screwed.

Getting in Ignis’ bed had been simpler than he had anticipated. If he was perfectly honest, he hadn’t been the one to dictate the pace of their dalliance. Ignis’ assertiveness - while sometimes difficult to deal with - had been a blessing in this situation. Gladiolus had found himself not too gently pushed against a wall when he was still wondering how to make a move. And a few days later, he’d been sitting in Ignis’ car on the way to his studio flat with little clue how he’d gotten there. Being taken along for a ride was the basis of most interactions with Ignis. Yet, he had no complaints. In truth, his unabashed willingness would have been embarrassing if he had stopped to consider it. He hadn’t. The guards who liked to sneer at the ‘Ice Queen of the Council’ couldn’t have been more wrong. They had no idea. And Gladiolus, brazenly enjoying the experience, had had no intention of enlightening them.  
He alone knew that except for the startling clarity of his eyes, there was little about Ignis that was cold once you got below the carefully crafted facade. For a few months, Gladiolus had revelled in that knowledge, he’d thought it was enough, he’d thought he understood Ignis. Until the day he’d realised he didn’t. Not really. It had dawned on him one evening, after getting once more kicked out on the street following some very pleasurable leisure time, that Ignis was still the same puzzle, that for all their time together, he still didn’t know what moved him, drove him. From a physical standpoint, there was little Ignis hadn’t allowed them to pursue. Yet, the man’s mind, his moods, his thoughts, were still as shielded as they’d always been.

What followed had been a minor freak-out on Gladiolus’ part while he came to terms with the fact that yes, this mattered to him. He was indeed hooked and wanted more. With acceptance had come careful and patient planning. Ignis might have been a gifted strategist but this wasn’t a battle. It was Gladiolus making his way through a magnificent, yet dangerous landscape to tame an illusive, legendary creature. Wilderness was his territory, he had the upper hand. And yes, he knew he was an unredeemable starry-eyed fool, but he owned up to it.  
All in all, progress had been slow but rewarding. Three years on, he had insinuated himself deep enough within Ignis’ world to become an integral part of it. Gladiolus suspected his companion was much more aware of his cautious and intricate scheming than he’d let on, but it mattered little as long as he went along with it and slowly dropped his guard. He knew some things were not going to change. Ignis’ reserve and quietness were as much a part of him as the icy pupils or the serrated wit and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Yet, he could read him now, moods and words, with a sharpness he would have never dared imagine. But most important of all, Ignis trusted him with that knowledge, trusted him to know when to pry and when to leave well alone. That hard-earned trust was his, and his alone. Gladiolus would be damned if he allowed the Nifs and their warmongering to take it away from him.

The hand that settled on his thigh radiated welcomed heat against his skin still chilled by the disappointing shower.

‘Are you just going to sit there?’  
‘Lonely, are you?’ Gladiolus replied with a smirk.

Ignis narrowed his eyes at him.

‘It’s late. If you plan on reminiscing the night away, feel free. But I will leave you to it and get some sleep. Some of us have to drive in the morning.’  
‘Right, right. Of course. My apologies. ’  
‘Accepted. Come here.’

Even on the brink of exhaustion, Ignis still had to take charge. And damn it all to hell, Gladiolus loved every second of it. The hand in his hair was not gentle, the locks twisted between fingers in a grip just shy of being painful. It was all it took for the coolness of the room to be forgotten. Heat was everywhere. The moist breath on his lips, the deep-seated desire in his belly, the blossoming weight in his groin. It hit him all at once. How he had missed this…  
Without the impediment of clothes, it didn’t take long for fingers to skirt down his back and take a firm hold of his glute, dragging him closer. He couldn’t help the sound it dragged from his throat and the next thing he knew a hand was over his mouth in an effort to silence him. Ignis looked rather pleased with himself, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and laughter dancing in his eyes.

‘You planned that.’  
‘It’s too easy not to.’

Gladiolus chuckled and dropped his forehead on Ignis’ shoulder for a moment. From the start, Ignis had known which buttons to push and what to say to draw from him the reactions he wanted, an instinctive and intimate mastery so different from any of Gladiolus’ previous trysts. Still…

‘It’s a motel, you know. I’m sure they’ve heard much worse before.’

Ignis shook his head, seriousness washing over his features.

‘I couldn’t care less about the motel. But Noct wanders at night when he can’t sleep, no matter how many times I’ve told him not to. I’d rather he doesn’t hear that.’

Gladiolus paused to consider this and although he had to admit the validity of the point, he couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing. Ignis stared, puzzled.

‘What? Are you all right?’

Gladiolus just laughed some more.

‘No, you’re right,’ he finally said, trying to get his breath back. ‘But just, I mean… if he did… imagine his face.’

Ignis stayed unreadable for a whole second, before his mouth started to twitch and soon - despite his best efforts - he started laughing too. He punched Gladiolus lightly in the arm, sapping his barely regained control. Their sniggering went on for a little while, feeding of each other, only interrupted when Gladiolus suddenly fell silent and hid his face in his hand with a groan. Fingers closed around his wrist, tugging.

‘What is it now?’  
‘I’m sorry. I just realised. I’ve got you in bed like this for the first time in weeks, and I’ve found nothing better to do than to tell you to imagine Noctis.’  
‘Typically insensitive.’

But Ignis was still smiling and Gladiolus couldn’t stop his next words, his voice turning low and thoughtful.

‘Still… we ought to tell him.’  
‘Someday. Now is not the time.’

Gladiolus wasn’t the only one who had learnt to read subtle shifts of mood. Ignis took one look at him and sighed, bringing his hand to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking the edge of his beard. His gaze bore in Gladiolus’ eyes, unwavering.

‘Let’s take the Crystal and Insomnia back and get him crowned King. Then you can tell him.’  
‘Quite the programme. But all right.’  
‘I don’t want him to think our loyalties might be divided. Not now. We both know where our duty lies, but Noct has enough to deal with as it is. He doesn’t need any more uncertainties, even imaginary ones.’

Ignis’ delivery was calm, but the apologetic edge in his voice made Gladiolus wince. He had not meant to put him on the spot. And he understood. Of course, he did. Still, it felt dishonest at times for their companions not to know.

‘I get it,’ he said, brushing away the hair strands that had fallen over Ignis’ eyes. ‘Sorry. Stupidly ruined the mood, didn’t I…’

A warm hand closed around his cock, palming it, drawing a low hiss from his throat.

‘The mood seems fine to me,’ Ignis retorted, lifting off the bed just enough to kiss him.

As usual, he was right.

They didn’t talk about it, they both knew time was limited. It was already late, and they had to get some sleep before the morning. Any involved experience was going to have to wait, but that didn’t mean the night couldn’t be satisfying.  
In a way, and considering how long it had been, this was easier. No ambitious expectations, no fioriture, just bodies coming together on instinct. There was time to share kisses, for hands to explore planes of skin, avoiding fresh wounds, finding new scars, all the while trying to ignore that brief, repeated and galvanic contact that their bodies craved but failed to maintain. It was both too much and not enough.  
They lasted a while, not nearly long enough, but longer than was reasonable in the circumstances. Until finally, Ignis’ teeth where on his jaw line, and he whispered, low and breathless in his ear.

‘Hold us.’

And Gladiolus obeyed. Propping himself up on an elbow, he closed his other hand around their cocks, cradling them together against his stomach. It was easy, glistening and wet, just firm enough to be satisfying, loose enough for their hips to work. Ignis’ hand was on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. He could feel the fingertips digging into the muscle when he got it right. He let the pressure guide him. Slowly, erratically at first, then with growing accuracy. Again and again. Until it didn’t let up, until he knew he would still be able to feel the ghost of Ignis’ grip the next day. Would be reminded of it each time he moved his arm. It was good. So good. He stayed close enough to hear the intake of breaths, the sighs, but just far enough to see Ignis’ eyes flutter, to read the next plea on his lips. One after the other. Letting him request, letting him guide. Until…

‘Wait.’

Not exactly what Gladiolus had had in mind, but he complied.

‘You’re okay?’  
‘I’m fine. I just…’

Ignis paused, taking a breath, trying to calm himself. It was futile. His hair was a mess, his eyes were too bright, his lips red and swollen where he’d bitten them. He was a poster for debauchery and as much as Gladiolus wanted to entertain him, keeping still was proving difficult. His body protested at the sight spread under him with a burst of lust so intense he could taste it.

‘Iggy, you’re killing me here.’  
‘I just wanted… I missed this. I missed you. I didn’t want it to be over just yet.’

Gladiolus squeezed his eyes shut in response. Fuck. Neither the words, nor the tone were helping his self-control. Ignis let out a small laugh.

‘I forgot how much you like it when I talk.’  
‘Like hell you did. You know exactly what you’re doing.’  
‘Maybe,’ Ignis admitted. ‘But this time it’s your fault.’  
‘How so?’  
‘Stop focusing on me, I could tell I was leaving you behind.’  
‘Did you just accuse me of being too considerate a lover?’  
‘Perish the thought! A considerate lover would give me what I want. And I want you there with me.’  
‘You’re such an ass.’  
‘You love it.’  
‘Your ass? Damn right, I do. It’s a very pretty ass.’  
‘We’re so glad you approve.’

Gladiolus kissed that insufferable smile off his mouth. But that was enough distraction. It only took a shift of his weight, a slight twist of his hand to get Ignis focused again.

‘I guess you’re going to have to help then,’ Gladiolus said against his lips, teasing.  
‘My pleasure.’  
‘Well… apparently mine too.’

He got bitten for that, but it was worth it.

Ignis’ hand joined his own. It took a bit of shuffling for it to be easy, comfortable. But damn it all, Gladiolus loved the sight, the feeling, above all the complicit intimacy they shared. It was slow and deliberate to start with. Foreheads bowed together, they watched each other, searching for the telltale signs of pleasure mirroring their own. The sharp intakes of breath, the eyes closing against their will, the quiet curses, they exchanged those in turn. Short-lived but wicked smiles flourished at small victories, soon erased by a renewed sweet and vengeful pressure. It was an amicable duel that neither of them wanted to win. And Ignis was right. This was better. But it wasn’t quite enough.  
Their free hands found each other, Gladiolus lacing their fingers together, pressing them into the mattress near Ignis’ cheek as a point of anchor, giving himself more leverage, picking up the pace. He wanted… he didn’t know anymore. But the open-mouth kisses that were little more than shared ragged breaths mixed with barely intelligible words were perfect. There was no more competition between them, only waves of raw cresting pleasure they weathered together. He hid his face in Ignis’ neck when it became too much, when he had to muffle his cries. He could feel the cheek resting on his hair, lips near his ear whispering his name along muted encouragements and non-sensical endearments. They didn’t last long after that.  
Ignis fingers closed around his like a vice, his voice desperate and pleading that this was it, that he couldn’t… that… Gladiolus, please. And Gladiolus was right there with him, just as he’d wanted. So he pressed him forward, again, again, again. Until the edge came to meet them, until they could tumble of it together, until there was nothing but heat and colours.

 

Gladiolus didn’t know how long they laid there, side by side, listening to their breathing slowing down with each passing minute. It was a contented state, not quite sleep, yet stretching beyond consciousness. It was only when Ignis rolled away from him that he shook himself back to full awareness. He tried to grab his arm, but was just a second too late.

‘What are you… Come back here.’  
‘Light.’

Still sluggish, he understood the meaning of the word only when the bedside lamp got turned off. The room dimmed. A warm silver glow still cascaded from the skylight. The Disc of Cauthess was only a few miles away and burnt in the night, preventing darkness from reaching the land. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Ignis was looking up at the window, his profile sharp against the shadows that populated the room. He was beautiful. And he was also unacceptably far. Gladiolus lifted himself from the bed with a groan and dragged him back. He met no resistance. Yet, he made sure to lay his forearm across Ignis’ chest, just in case the fool got the ludicrous idea to try and move again. But the hand that came to rest on his arm was a caress, not a protest, mindlessly tracing the tattooed lines on his skin. When had he become so familiar with them that he could do that without looking… It mattered little, only that he had. Gladiolus watched Ignis' fingers move, feeling more at peace than he had since they first left Insomnia. He stayed there, basking in that feeling, until sleep threatened to crawl over him. Not yet, he thought. He had been waiting for a moment away from Noct and, as much as he hated to break the silence, this was the perfect occasion to ask the question that had been rolling around in his mind.

‘I’ve been thinking…’  
‘Hm?’  
‘When you bother with a title, you and Cor keep on calling him “Highness”. And I can’t help and wonder every time, shouldn’t it be “Majesty”?’

Ignis’ fingers paused for an instant and he let out a quiet sigh. Gladiolus barely heard it, but he couldn’t miss the way his chest rose and fell under his arm.

‘If you’re asking about the official protocol… Well, the 47th revision of the “Treaty on Etiquette and Expectations at the Court of the Lucian Kings” clearly states that the address “Your Majesty” is only required after the official crowning ceremony that should include presentation of the Ring to the King and the demonstration of his acceptance by the Crystal. It’s not necessarily wrong from an etiquette standpoint to use “Majesty” as a title to address the heir once the King has passed, it’s just not required. You can’t be accused of disrespecting the Royal Family if you don’t use it as long as you show appropriate deference.’  
‘But?’  
‘But if you’re asking about the Marshal and I, I think Cor is calling Noct “Highness” for the same reason I do. At this point, the King’s title would be an unnecessary burden he’s not yet ready for. He must come to terms with the death of his father and his new responsibilities first.’  
‘Makes sense.’  
‘I’m glad.’

The mocking edge underneath the deadpan tone wasn’t lost on Gladiolus but he didn’t rise to the bait.

‘What you said… does it mean Noctis can’t be King until we’ve recovered the Ring and the Crystal from the Nifs?’  
‘Treaties and protocols have been revised in much less dramatic circumstances. So crowning him would take some work to be legitimate but it’s not impossible. However, let’s be honest, the title will be little else than a keepsake if Noctis can’t access the full powers of the Lucian Kings. Without them, Lucis will be lost to Niflheim for good.’  
‘We better get on it then.’  
‘That’s the plan.’

Ignis gave his arm a small tap.

‘Let me up, I haven’t set an alarm.’  
‘Hmm. No can do.’

He had no qualms using his bulk against Ignis. The man wasn’t exactly defenceless.

‘Fine. Then get me my phone. By my clothes.’

Gladiolus had to lean across the gap between the beds to grab it without getting up, and he was pretty sure Ignis was somewhat disappointed when he managed to do so without falling on his ass. There had been an amused and expectant glow to the gaze that had followed him. He handed the phone over with a triumphal wink. But his glee was short-lived. The alarm glared at him from the screen as Ignis set it up. Five am.

‘You’re a slave driver,’ he protested dropping back on the mattress and throwing an arm over his eyes.  
‘They’ll be switching between day and night patrols at that time. It’s our best opportunity to slip through.’  
‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.’  
‘Besides, I didn’t hear you complain earlier.’  
‘What about?’  
‘My instructions.’  
‘Yeah…’ Gladiolus said, his mouth twitching into a smile. He dropped his arm to look at Ignis. ‘I didn’t mind those so much.’  
‘I’m afraid the Road Trip Charter doesn’t allow cherry-picking.’  
‘But fucking the boss is fine?’  
‘As long as you follow instructions.’  
‘I guess I better be on my best behaviour then.’  
‘Precisely.’  
‘Five am it is.’

Ignis turned on his side to rest against him.

‘No sulking either.’  
‘Rules. So many rules.’  
‘And yet… you’re still here.’  
‘Yeah. Yeah, I am.’

Gladiolus reached for Ignis’ hand.

‘I told you before. I’m not going anywhere.’

Soft hair brushed against his cheek as Ignis hummed softly. Fingers tightened around his own. It was answer enough. They fell silent and Gladiolus closed his eyes, savouring the moment. It was going to be some time before he could again feel the line of Ignis’ body against him, the familiar and welcome weight holding him still as he drifted into sleep. Tension had eased from his companion somewhat but the swirl of nerves brewing under his skin was still easily perceptible. Gladiolus appreciated the confirmation that his interference could indeed be helpful, but he was also painfully aware that while this was a start, it wasn’t nearly enough. Sex itself wasn’t the answer, intimacy and time were. Endeavouring to create a space where he could slowly chip away at Ignis’ barriers, where he could get him to remember how to drop his guard and admit to his struggles and worries, was the key. Sex was just a useful tool to get there and well… Gladiolus wasn’t exactly crying over it.  
But creating opportunities for intimacy between them in the current circumstances was a conundrum in itself. Noctis was too much of a target, too vulnerable, to be left to his own devices even momentarily. Neither he, nor Ignis, would ever compromise on that point. They’d been lucky that night to find a motel with a trustworthy complement of hunters keeping watch, allowing them all to unwind for a few precious hours. That kind of good fortune couldn’t be relied on.

‘I’m going to regret this,’ Ignis whispered.

He was close enough that Gladiolus could feel the breath of the words on his neck.

‘What?’  
‘You’re scheming.’  
‘What makes you say that?’  
‘You get those “I’m thinking too hard” lines between your eyebrows. I can always tell.’  
‘Maybe you’ll like my schemes.’  
‘Is that so? Do tell.’  
‘I was thinking that next time Cor graces us with his presence, I’m getting him to babysit the brats. The both of us will go “get supplies” or something. It will take some time. Probably a whole night away at least.’  
‘Will we now?’

The answer was non-committal but it wasn’t a refusal and that was enough. Gladiolus knew the Marshal was the only man they could trust to protect the Prince, to take over their watch for a short time.

‘We will. We’ll find a nice isolated cabin and I’ll get you to fuck me. Slow and steady, or hard and fast, whatever you need, as many times as you need. Until you’re spent, until you’re so exhausted and pliant, I can turn you over with one hand. Then you’ll watch as I take you apart. Slowly. Thoroughly. Over and over again. And then a few more times after that. I’ll keep going until you finally give that pretty brain of yours a rest. I know what that looks like, you won’t fool me. And I won’t let up. Not until you’re ready, not until you’re begging me to stop.’  
‘It’s cute you think you’ll have any energy left for that.’  
‘Oh I’ll be careful. I’ll start by making you do all the work.’

Ignis snorted in answer. But when he spoke, he couldn’t disguise the raw edge in his voice. Not quite as unaffected by the offer as he pretended to be, the one-word reply was both assent and surrender.

‘Deal.’  
‘Good.’  
‘You know… it might take some time.’  
‘What will?’  
‘Me asking you to stop.’

The words were quiet, but the vulnerable honesty in them was a small victory. Gladiolus smiled in the half light of the Meteor.

‘Oh I’m counting on it.’


End file.
